Under Fire
by Emil Lime
Summary: Insane city is as close to hell as you can get without blowing your brains out. It's where wanna-be crimelords crawl to so they can play god for a while. There are a lot of crazies here, but the worst is a guy who goes by the name of Red. It's rumored that if Red's killed, the other crooks will fall too. That's why I, Piers Nivans, am being sent in to take him down. Nivanfield AU
1. En Route

A/N: Hello! Thanks for clicking on my story! Just a note before you start reading, this fic is rated M-there will be adult themes in here. You've been warned!

Anywho, enjoy and make sure to review!

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This city is as close to hell as someone can get without blowing their own brains out. Of course, that's putting it delicately. I mean, it's not called 'Insane City' for nothing. This is the place where the worst of the worst crawl to so they can play god for a while, at least until some other scumbag puts a bullet between their eyes and takes their throne. The people that run the show, these crime lords, are the kinds that go shoot up a school before sitting down to breakfast and rape a couple of helpless women before they cozy up in bed that night. They don't give a fuck about who lives or who dies, so long as they get their cash and keep their power.

Insane City has a lot of crazies, but there's one whose the most fucked up of all. He goes by the name 'Red'. He's a monster and he's been running Insane City for nearly a decade. No other freak has been able to take Red down and his influence is spreading beyond Insane City's boarders. He's been in leagues with multiple Cartels, the Mafia, even the Yakuza over in Japan. He's been linked to drug rings, murders, assassinations, you name it and Red's finger prints are all over it. It's rumored that if Red can be taken down, the other crooks in Insane City will fall and that town might have a fighting chance at freedom.

That's why the US government has gotten the CIA involved in all of this, and why I, Piers Nivans, am being sent in. My orders are to infiltrate Red's ranks and assassinate the prick. It's not going to be easy. Once I'm in, the CIA thinks it'll be too hot for the possibility of extraction, meaning once I've made contact, I'm stuck until I kill him or he kills me; whichever ends up coming first. This isn't going to be easy…

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Status Report 1: En Route

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The bus to Insane is surprisingly full, considering it's the last place on earth anyone except violent sociopaths would want to be. As it turns out, I'm stuck standing, hands clinging to the rail above me for support.

I've been riding for two hours in the dusty deserts of Arizona, the sun nearly ready to set, and the heat is really starting to get to me. I thought it was bad when the sun was high in the sky but its worse now that the heat had stagnated and settled on the dry land. Standing between a bunch of sweaty bodies doesn't help either. If the shitty bus is running any kind of air conditioner, I'm not feeling it. I need to get my mind on something other than the heat. Pulling out the passport in my jean pocket, I fold open the forged papers and looked at my fake name again. 'Cole Jaden' is printed beside a picture of me. It's probably one of the better photos I've taken for these things. All of my information is spelled out under it, my eye color, hair color, even weight and height. It looks legit, just like its supposed to. The government has given me a completely new identity to use while undercover for this mission, which is titled operation: tyrant, like something out of a James Bond movie. I'd spent my entire flight to Arizona studying the ins and outs of Cole Jaden's fictional life, learning everything I needed to know to keep my story straight. Looking over the passport brings back those tedious hours of memorization.

A voice from the speakers makes me tuck the booklet into my back pocket. "Stopping at Cleargate, stopping at Cleargate." That's one stop away from Insane City. I seriously can't wait to get off of this sweaty, steamy bus. Shortly after the announcement, the vehicle sputters to a halt, several people getting off and a few more getting on. I decide to remain standing, letting some of the more exhausted looking people take a seat. One woman even gives me a small smile of gratitude when I motion for her to take the seat near me. She sits down, pulling her young son, no older than five, onto her lap. He looks like he's just about to fall asleep and so does she, but she keeps herself alert as she gazes out the dirty window of the bus. She's probably use to this ride, probably works in Cleargate and lives in Insane City.

I can see the driver, a balding and obese man, standing and stretching outside the bus's cramped space. I guess it's been a long day for everyone.

There's a tugging at the hem of my t-shirt, so I look down to see the boy. His sleepy demeanor is still very much present, but he's tugging none the less. I give him a soft smile, bowing my head and speaking quietly. "Hey, what is it, little guy?" This got the mother's attention, one arm wrapping around her son tightly as the other works to move the dark bangs from her eyes. Throwing her a non-threatening smile, I say, "He's quiet the handsome little devil, isn't he. Long day?" His hand is still securely wrapped up in my shirt, and I still have no idea why.

"He comes to work with me." Its then that she notices her son's grip and gently she takes his hand and works it free. "I'm sorry. He usually has a blanket with him but I forgot it today."

So I'm a blanket now? I just smile, shaking my head, "No, it's okay. He didn't bother me."

The woman gives me another small smile and that's when I feel like something's wrong. We should have been moving by now. In fact, the doors to the bus haven't even closed yet. Turning my head towards the front, the first thing I notice is the obese driver is gone. That's never a good sign. Just then, men dressed in black fatigues and ski masks come marching on board, the front erupting into screams, grabbing everyone else's attention. The men are holding semi-automatic guns, ones you can only buy on the black market. Just like everyone else, I raise my arms above my head.

Fuck, my gun's not even on me, it's in my bag. I throw my eyes up, catching sight of my bag sitting on the mesh nets along with many other types of luggage. There's no way in hell I can reach it without them noticing. It looks like I'm stuck until I think of another plan. The tallest masked man speaks first, his tenor voice filling the hushed air, "Everybody stand up and keep your arms where we can see them. You're going to follow us outside." Doing as we're instructed, we leave in an orderly fashion, the whimpers of men and women alike filling my ears. There's got to be a way out of this.

The men have us line up along the side of the bus, everyone standing with their backs against the hot steal. The inside is raided, belongings being spilled onto the ground as empty bags are discarded like trash. It's not long before they find my gun and their damn curious about who owns it too. I can see them discussing it from the corner of my eye as I continue to face forward. I hear the young boy hiccup a sob as his mother urges him to be quiet. Everyone's on pins and needles as the men finish up their business inside, carrying out several wallets and pieces of jewelry out.

The tallest one walks in front of us, and speaks up like he's really important, "You've all been very good hostages so far. If nobody plays hero, you may be walking out of here alive." He uses the nose of his gun to point towards us, sweeping it across every last person, "Now, you all get to listen to me because I'm the one with the gun. If you don't, you'll end up like the driver." He motioned towards the front of the bus, everyone turning their heads. I can barely see what's left of the fat man, his body so cut up and dismembered, it's hard to recognize as human. Sobbing begins all around me and the woman tells her son not to look over there. He asks her why, but she simply tells him not to. I can't blame her. I can't even think up a way of telling a five year old what lies not twenty feet away from him.

"So, now that we've come to an understanding," I can tell even through the ski mask that he's grinning. Things are about to get ugly. "Let's have some fun, shall we?" Using his gun once again, he points towards the middle of the group, in my direction. "You, little lady with the kid." I can see her tense up at being singled out, her body shaking violently. "Come here." He motions towards himself, those two simple words laced with sadistic pleasure. He's getting a fix off watching everyone cower. What a sick bastard.

She takes a wobbly step forward, her son attempting to follow. She takes another and another, the boy tugging on her dress, "Mommy, where are you going?" Dropping down, she pushes her boy back, her face on the verge of tears. She doesn't say anything but throws me a begging glance.

Reaching down, I take a hold of the small child's shoulders, gently holding him back as his mother turns and continues forward. "Momma, where are you going? Mommy!" I can see it in the way her body takes each jerking step, that separating from her child is more painful than just getting shot by this prick. My blood boils as I watch the masked man's eyes twinkle with delight at the boy's screams for his mother.

Shushing him, I keep my eyes trained on the man, glaring daggers at him.

When the woman finally reaches him, she's become several shades lighter. He shifts from one leg to the other, a sadistic tone in his voice, "Well, you're quite the beauty. I bet you sell those looks of yours to the highest bidder, huh?" She doesn't say anything. "Get down on your knees and suck me off, whore."

If the people around me could get any quieter, they did in that moment. The way her body trembled as she shakily lowered herself to her knees and placed a hand upon his large belt buckle was enough to make me explode. Standing quickly and pushing the boy behind me, I speak up, "Have me do it instead."

She freezes, the man lifting his gaze from her to look at me. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me. Have me do it instead."

He breaks into a fit of laughter, his men doing the same. "Why would I do that?"

"Because it's more humiliating to have a straight man suck you off than to have a straight woman. She probably does that to her husband all the time, hell, she's probably done it to her husband's friends. It's not degrading to her." I can tell I've peeked his interest with that statement. Now I just need to get him to bite, "Wouldn't it be more fun to break me than to abuse the mouth of a whore?

He tilts his head sideways, pondering my statement. My nerves are on fire but I keep a cool and collected demeanor, just waiting for an answer. Finally, he gives a loud laugh and grabs the woman by her hair, throwing her aside. "I like your spunk. Get over here." I watched her get up, scrambling back to the side of the bus where she scoops her child into her arms, hugging him tightly. She gives me a look, one that reminds me why I'm doing this to myself in the first place. Giving a small, reassuring smile to her, I glance back towards the man and walk forward. I assess the situation with every step. There has to be a way out of all of this. I do my best to keep my eyes locked, looking up and down his body. He's muscular and well-armed, so engaging him without some kind of weapon would be suicide. I take into account the semi-automatic resting between both of his hands. These mercenary types usually carry more than one gun, just in case it gets lost in a scramble. Glancing at his ankles, I realized there's a bulge there.

Maybe there's a way out after all.

I reach him, standing as tall as I can. I raise my arms up slowly as he steps towards me, holding his gun in his right hand and using his left to rummage through my pockets. He pulled out the thin booklet, opening it up to the front page and reading aloud, "Cole Jaden, hazel eyes, brown hair…well, Cole, you certainly have bitten off more than you can chew. You should have minded your own business. Now I'm going to make this little experience one you'll never forget." Pointing the business end of his gun at me, he says one simple word, "Strip."

I move slowly, taking the hem of my t-shirt and pulling it up and over my head. I drop it to the ground, not watching it fall. He's staring at me intently, enjoying having this kind of control over me as I reached down and removed my boots and socks. Tossing them haphazardly to the side, my hands went to work unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, my fingers looping around the rim of my pants and the top of my boxers. Hesitating for a second, I pull down and step out of the legs. Dropping them in front of me, I kicked them aside.

Never, not once, did I look away from his face. I'm putting on the tough guy act, the guy these kinds of bastards love to tear apart. I can see the disgusting ideas forming in his head, too, as he imagines several ways to make me regret my decision to help the woman out. He dropped his gaze, checking me out, making me feel slightly self-conscious. "Well, Cole, I think you know the drill. Get sucking."

Lowering myself onto my knees, I can feel my pulse in every vein. I know I can make my move here, attempt to turn the tables.

My hands wander cautiously to the belt buckle, undoing it and pulling it loose. I unhook his pants, dropping the zipper. Yanking down the cover of his boxers, I reveal his rather large member. I can feel my stomach drop as I work it free of his pants and into the open air. The masked man twisted his fingers into my hair, pushing me closer to it. Reminding myself of why I'm here, I wrap a hand around it and guided it into my mouth.

He gives off a hiss of satisfaction as I swirl my tongue around the tip, sucking lightly. Disgust washes over me in waves as his hand pushed me further along its length, forcing me to take more than I'd care too. While my mouth's busy distracting him, my free hand quickly travels over to the pant leg in question. If I'm right about what's there, I catch him with his pants down. Literally. Fluidly, I sweep my hand to his ankle, pushing his pant leg out of the way. My hand wraps around what I was hoping it'd find, a gun. Pulling it out of its holster, I point the business end at the base of what my mouth is working over.

His hand freezes and I take that moment to remove the disgusting thing from my mouth, practically spitting it out. I speak, catching my breath along the way, "You're gonna want to put your arms up nice and slow, or else your dick's gonna be a lot smaller." As if to make my point, I press the barrel harder against the base of his partially erect member. He complies, lifting both arms up. His men are confused, asking him questions that I direct him not to answer.

Keeping my gun trained, I stand up and look at him, our eyes locking. "Now hand me that pretty semi-automatic." He does so quickly, giving the weapon over too me. I place it on the ground, shoving it aside with my foot. "Tell your men to stand down."

The masked man wastes no time in speaking, "Men, drop your weapons." I'm actually surprised at how obedient they are, each of them lowering their guns and placing them on the ground in front of them. The hostages began to notice something's going on now, many of them murmuring to each other.

"Now, if you want to keep your dick intact, let the hostages get on the bus and go."

He's glaring at me and I return the stare. He speaks, never dropping his gaze from mine, "Hostages, you're free to go. Get out of my sight."

They stand there for a second, unsure of what to do. "Go," I say loudly and they start moving. Everyone scrambled to get on board, someone grabbing the keys from the dead driver and revving the engine to life.

From behind, I hear the voice of the woman, "What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Just take your son and go."

Her uncertainty is evident but I'm grateful when she doesn't linger, "Thank you, Cole," she says before boarding that vehicle. I wish I could tell her my real name, but I'm really not in that kind of situation. It isn't long before I hear the doors of the vehicle close and the sound of wheels churning the sand. The noise of that shitty bus disappears quickly and I can't blame them for wanting to get away as fast as they can.

I can hear the smile in the masked man's words as he speaks up, "So, did you have a step 2 or is this as far as your plan goes?" In that instant, I'm kneed in the stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs. The man's right hand grabs ahold of my hair, pulling my head back painfully hard. He drives his knee into me again and before I can pull the trigger, his men grab me and the gun, ripping it from my hands. They force me to my knees, one twisting his hand threw my hair and jerking my head up.

Glaring up at the tall man as he finishes making himself decent, he pulls the mask off and smirks at me. "What's the matter, Cole? Wasn't expecting that?" As I look over his face, my stomach turns to ice. It's a face I've seen several times while prepping for this mission; it's been projected on screens and printed in files hundreds of times. Standing right in front of me is my target, Red.

He runs a gloved hand threw his short brown locks, the sweat causing them to stick in several different directions. "I've gotta say, Cole, you actually surprised me. No one's ever been that ballsy with me before. Of course, looking at your pair, I should have guessed you'd try something." I growl at him as my arms are wrenched behind my back, pulled farther than arms should go. Red only smirks at me, grabbing the handgun that was taken from my hand. He muses over it, dark blue eyes examining it as he talks, "I'm guessing the handgun we found belongs to you, then? No one else would have been that confident with one in their hands. You weren't even shaking."

Dropping it to his side, he turns his gaze on me, a cold seriousness present there, "Tell me, you think you're a good shot?"

I only glare at Red, breathing heavily as I struggle with the men keeping me at bay. Raising the gun up, he slams it across my face and pain erupts through my entire skull. "Are you a good shot?"

I throw an angry glance his way but refuse to answer. His left hand travels to the back of my head, the other man removing his hand as Red takes hold of my hair. He jerks my head back violently, the force threatening to take my scalp off. He leans in real close, his cold eyes staring passively into my hazel ones. "Answer me, Cole, are you a good shot." I only stare at him, seething anger emitting from my face. I wince when his grip tightens, "I'm not a patient man, Cole." He raises the gun, shoving it under my chin and digging it into the soft flesh there. "Answer."

My glare never leaves him and my mouth stays shut. After several seconds of tense silence, he backs up, removing the gun from under my chin. He gives me a sickening grin as he lets go of my hair, "Well, well, well, you _are_ ballsy. I like that." Putting the gun back in its holster, Red turns and picks up his semi-automatic, looking over his men, "We're taking him with us. He might be useful." The men didn't wait to pull me to my feet, keeping their gloved hands wrapped around my arms and shoulders as they shove me forward, a few breaking off to grab the goods they got from raiding the bus. As we walk, the dusty sand feeling like sandpaper against my bare feet and I'm reminded of how naked I am. We reach a dilapidated building; a warehouse of some kind, abandoned years ago by the looks of it and there are a few covered jeeps waiting inside. It doesn't surprise me that Red can get this close to Cleargate. After all, he has a lot of power and influence. For all the CIA knows, he probably has complete control over nearby cities like Cleargate.

I watch as the men pack their score away and load up in the jeeps. Red oversees the process before walking over to me. He grabs ahold of me, shoving the nose of his semi-automatic into my side. "Let's play nice, ok?" I'm released from the grip of the other men, whom quickly load themselves into the jeeps. Red guides me to the farthest vehicle, opening the door and shoving me inside. Following after, he kicks me to the other side of the seats, which have been ripped out and replaced with genuine leather. I sit, the surface warm, and cross my arms over my chest. He's probably getting some sort of sick pleasure from doing all of this, dragging me around naked and taking me to his base.

On the upside, I have managed to infiltrate his ranks, even if it wasn't at all how I'd planned.

"Hey sis, you think we can get this shit going?" Sis? There's never been any intel saying Red has a sister. I look towards the front, which is separated by bullet proof, tinted glass. The middle window lowers in typical limo fashion, and a redheaded girl looks back.

She gives him a wink, "You score today, Chris?"

Chris? Red's name is Chris? I glance over at him. No, he doesn't seem like a 'Chris' to me.

"Got the loot and a little bitch, too." She glances my way and smirks at me.

"He's kind of cute sitting there all naked and stuff. You want me to roll up the windows and crank the tunes, bro?" My stomach churns at the implication. She can't be serious, can she?

He gives off a laugh, "You're a mind reader, sis." With that, the window rolls up and I can hear her hard rock music crank to full volume. It's loud and the look in Red's eyes tells me I'm going to regret what's about to come.


	2. Insane City

A/N:Here's chapter 2! I want to warn you all that there is rape in this chapter (though not how we usually think of it, it's still rape all the same), so read with caution if that kind of content bothers you. Also, those of you who follow my story, Piers' Lament, know that I'm currently working on the next chapter and hopefully (fingers crossed) I'll have it out within the next week.

And thank you so much to those of you who reviewed! It really made my life seeing how much you guys were liking the story so far! So thank you again, and thanks to those who followed and favorited!

Enjoy and review!

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After a near death experience just outside of Cleargate, I've managed to find Red. Apparently, his real name is Chris and he's even got a sister. We're currently en route to Insane City, which is at least another hour's drive. That's not a good thing, because I'm stuck naked in the back seat with Red and he looks like he can't wait to make me suffer.

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Status Report 2: Insane City

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The hard rock music pounds away at the speakers as Red and I have a stare down. There's no way I'm letting myself become his little cum bucket. He just smiles at me sickeningly, no doubt getting high off my fear. He takes his semi-automatic and empties the bullets from it, careful to check the chamber to make sure there aren't any live rounds. He throws the empty gun into the trunk space and drops the bullets case onto the ground in front of him. Pulling the handgun from its holster, he levels it at me.

"We were interrupted by your heroic antics back at the bus station," with his other hand, he unhooks his belt buckle and pulls the thing from the loops. His intentions are obvious. "I think it's time you finish what you started." Spreading his legs open, he motions with the gun for me to go between them. My stomach flip flops as I continue to sit there, eyeing him dangerously. The look on Red's face tells me he's not amused. "Remember when I said to play nice? Just because I respect your stubborn nature doesn't mean I'll let you walk all over me. Get down here so I can fuck that pretty mouth of yours, or I'll flip you over and shove this gun up your ass."

The threat was very much real; I can see it all over his face. This isn't another 'who flinches first' test like the one back at the bus stop. He has every intention of getting off and he doesn't care how he abuses me to get there.

Moving slowly, I lower myself to the ground and shuffled between his legs. Dred filled my veins as I reached up and once again undo his pants, revealing his partially erect cock. He's been getting a hard-on through all of this, watching me squirm under his thumb. I can't help but hate these kinds of people. The gun comes to rest against my head, "Start sucking."

Doing as I'm told, but throwing him a glare to show I'm not defeated, I slip my lips around him and began working my tongue around his tip. Slowly, I take more of him into my mouth, causing him to groan. I bob my head up and down, sucking gently. I feel him getting harder in my mouth, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm getting aroused by it too, by the thought that I'm making the United States most fearsome crime lord moan in pleasure. My tongue stroked the underside of his dick, causing him to melt into his seat.

"Oh god, that's right…you fucking whore…" I take that as a good sign and continued what I'm doing, taking a little more of his dick into my mouth before swirling my tongue over his tip again, tasting the salty pre-cum. He gives off a pleasured moan, his body jerking as I continued my assault. "Fuck," he sounds breathless, "Fuck…"

His hand works into my hair, forcing me to deep throat him far faster than I'm ready too. I have to force myself to relax and breathe through my nose to keep from gagging. He gives off another moan as he rolls his hips against my face. I begin bobbing my head again, trying to think of anything other than what's going on right now, like how I'm planning on assassinating this bastard. Maybe I'll shoot his fucking dick off first, chock him on it and see how he likes it. That, or I'll just shoot him between the legs until there's nothing left of his genitals and let him bleed to death. Both options are extremely tempting.

My thoughts scatter when Red shoves his dick the rest of the way in, chocking me some. Tears form in my eyes as I relax my throat even more to allow for his entire length. He's moaning loudly and bucking wildly, the pain of him ramming against my throat almost unbearable. He holds my hair tighter as he reaches his climax, shoving himself as deep as possible before coming in my throat and causing me to chock. I desperately struggle to pull away and he lets me, giving a contented sigh as I spit out the seed that's still in my mouth.

"Damn," he breathes, body melting into the leather seat, "That can't be the first time you've done that."

I don't answer him as I continue to spit and cough, wiping my mouth clean. Every part of me feels violated and disgusting and I want nothing more than to crawl back over to my side of the jeep and be left alone for the remainder of the drive. Of course, by the look in his eyes, this prick has other plans. His gaze is trained on me and I feel self-conscious again. "What?" I ask, anger coating the word.

Red gives me a knowing smirk before speaking, "You're a regular slut, aren't you? No one's ever been able to get all of me inside their mouth before, which means you've got some practice." I only send him a glare, spitting out the last of his cum before wiping my mouth again. "You want to know how else I know?"

No. Not really. "How?"

He points down, that revolting smirk widening, "You were getting off on it."

Heat jumps to my face, as I don't have to look down to see that he's right. Giving him another glare, I snap back, "Are we done?" This only earns a devilish smile from him, who sits himself a little straighter to lean towards me. He levels the gun against my head again, the barrel making a small impression in my temple.

"Jerk off."

There's no way I'm doing that in front of him. I already sucked that gross dick of his, I'm not going to feel myself up and cumming in front of him like some dirty whore. He presses the gun harder against my head and in that moment, I grab ahold of it, twisting it away from my skull just as he pulls down the trigger. The bullet lodges itself into the bullet-proof glass and the car comes to a jarring halt. Red's fist collides with my cheek violently, causing me to see stars, but I don't let go of the gun.

He punches me again, this time its strong enough to throw me off balance and he uses that time to push himself on top of me, pinning me to the floor of the jeep. The music drops to an all-time low and I can hear his sister calling his name. But that doesn't distract Red, who wraps his fingers around my neck and starts chocking me as his other hand fights for the gun. His strong arm is able to suffocate me in no time, causing me to let go of the weapon. Swinging the butt of the gun down, he rams it into my head, sending my world spinning. I drop both hands to the one that's iron grip is cutting off my air supply. Using all of the strength I can muster, I yank on his arm, removing it from my throat. He loses his balance and I take the advantage. Throwing a punch against his face and knocking him back, I grab the gun with both hands, ripping it free from his grasp. I point it at him and fire, Red moving in that moment and only getting grazed across the cheek. The look of rage that crosses his face tells me he would've been less angry had I actually killed him.

"Fucking prick," He mutters as he rams his forearm against my throat again, causing my world to go temporarily black. I cough and wheeze, Red snatching the gun from my hand as I bite back the tears threatening my eyes. Smashing the butt against my face again, I let out a cry of pain, Red's lips twitching upward at hearing it.

I hear the window rolling down, "Chris! What the hell is going on back there!"

"Nothing, Claire, keep driving." There's a kind of joy in his voice that I haven't heard before as he turns his head towards his sister, Claire, and motions with his eyes to continue what she was doing. A moment later, the window rolls back up and the music becomes loud again.

"Well now," he says, looking me over. My face is in all kinds of pain, my head throbbing from the violent hits. I glare at him though, albeit weakly. "You're a fighter, aren't you? I _really_ like that." Reaching down, Red runs a gloved hand over my bruising face. The lightest touch causes me to cringe, biting back another yelp. He gets this revolting smile across his lips, the pleasure reaching his eyes. His fingers trace down my sore face, reaching my neck. In that moment, he grabs ahold of it, pressing down hard.

My hands shoot to his wrist, struggling to remove it. I kick and twist my entire body, doing everything I can think of to try and get out from under him, but he keeps holding, pressing his entire weight against me. He starts laughing as my attempts get weaker, the pain and lack of oxygen causing my thoughts to get fuzzy. Finally, he releases me and I gasp, sputtering and hacking as the air attacks my lungs.

"I can't decide how I like you more," He states, running the barrel of the gun along my chin and up the side of my face. "Sucking my dick or being strangled." I can't even muster up the energy to give him the weakest of glares. My entire body is aching and my lungs are screaming in pain. Red's admiring what he can do to me, a smirk twitching on his lips. He takes the time to correct his clothing, stuffing the gun into the back of his pants. Throwing me a sadistic grin, he throws a punch square in my stomach, knocking the air from my system and causing me to see white. Red's merciless, driving punch after punch downward, my screams and whimpers masked by the disturbing laugh coming from him. It's a vain attempt, but I block, deflecting little of the barrage. Carelessly, he just slaps my arms away and continues, getting even higher because I'm trying so hard to stop the pain.

Slamming one last punch into me, he sits back, breathing hard and smiling. I'm whimpering, not even carrying that he's getting off on it anymore, and wrapping my arms meekly around my middle. Hot tears sting my eyes but I try to hold them back, at least attempting to save a shred of my dignity. "What's the matter, Cole? What happened to all of that brazen attitude I was dealing with earlier?"

I can't even muster up a good comeback, partially because of the pain and partially because I don't want him to attack me again. My breath is raspy as I hug myself tighter and try to turn away, but Red's having too much fun. He leans down, taking ahold of my bruised chin, and forces me to look at him. "Now, the next time I ask you to do something, you say 'yes sir' and do it. Let's practice. Cole, jerk off."

I suck in a shaky breath but don't say anything and that makes him angry. He pistol-whips me again, this time breaking the skin and causing me to bleed. I give off a sharp cry when he hits me once again, my head spinning and the world fading in and out.

"Cole," He says sternly, like he's talking to a trouble child, "Jerk off."

Coughing, I whisper, "Yes sir…"

"Good boy." Red pats the side of my face, the pain causing me to hiss. Sitting up, he gets off of me and moves back to his original position. I can hear him pull out the gun again as well as what sounds like a paper package. He rustles with it before the distinct 'zip' of a lighter comes through the loud music. I can smell it once he's lit it, a cigarette. I can hear him breath out the cancerous smoke lazily before the leather squeaks and there's a knock on the middle window. The music drops to a tolerable level as Red sits back and enjoys his smoke. "Cole?"

Hearing him address me makes my stomach drop, but I weakly reply with the words he wants to hear, "yes sir?"

"I don't want to hear a peep from you until we get there."

I don't bother responding, not even with another 'yes sir'. My entire body feels like it's been through a car compactor and all I really want to do is sleep. I wouldn't say he's got me whipped, I'm still feeling defiant, but he's got me beat today, that's for sure. This is the first time I've been on a mission where I've ended up naked, beaten and completely exhausted. I like to think I'm good at taking down scum bags, but as it turns out, Red's a whole new breed of nasty. Breathing in a shaky breath, I curl onto my side, ignoring the stinging that comes from my stomach as I do so.

Maybe it's because he's not paying any attention to me, or maybe it's because I just can't hold it back anymore, but I start sobbing quietly, and not the pretty kind of sobbing with a sprinkle of tears. It's ugly sobbing, runny nose and everything, but I keep it quiet because the last thing I need is for Red to get another hard-on and decide he wants to shove it up my ass.

After all of that, though, I fall asleep. It isn't until the car rumbles to a stop and I hear the voices of Red and his sister conversing overhead that I crack my eyes open, dazed and groggy. The pain hits me full force as I come around and I give off a sharp yap before biting my tongue.

"It's about time he woke up." Red's voice, he sounds like a jackass.

Every last inch of my body hurts like hell, my head throbbing, my throat raw and aching and my stomach feeling like it's been sat on by a boulder. "Come on," he says, "Get that pretty little ass of yours in gear." I don't appreciate the way he objectifies my body but I meekly try to sit up before collapsing onto the floor of the car again. My muscles refuse to engage, every nerve deciding it'd rather lounge here and risk another beating. Strong hands grab ahold of my arms, jerking me up and out of the car. I'm thrown to the ground, my hands catching me before I can have it up close and personal with the cold, hard cement. I hack violently, my lungs stinging.

Red steps behind me, pressing his handgun against my head, "Stand."

"Y-yes sir…" I push myself up, forcing my body to cooperate. Once I'm on my feet, he gives me a solid push, almost causing me to fall again. Stepping, feet slapping against the concrete, I throw a small glare back at him before looking to where we are. It's an old construction site, probably meant to be a strip mall at one point. Iron beams stand proudly, old machines sit ideal and half built floors decorate my vision. Several flood lights permeate the area with a white hue, bringing my attention to the numerous amount of vehicles parked on the massive slab we're walking on. There's also a lot of men, more than I expected.

We keep walking, Claire's voice calling out, "Chris, wait up!" She comes jogging to him, though he doesn't slow his pace. "So, how much did we score? You know?"

"I haven't gotten a good look at the cargo, but from what I saw, I'd say at least a couple grand."

"Good," her happy smile is evident in her tone, "So it wasn't a complete disaster." She's referring to my little intervention, I suppose. "Any idea when you'll talk with Vice?"

Vice, the only man in Insane City to ever come close to taking Red down. The CIA's reports indicate that he's Red's biggest rival and owns the second largest territory, even though that territory is relatively small compared to Red's. At one point the CIA actually worked alongside Vice to lead a charge on Red's headquarters, Operation: Cohort I think it was called. It ended in a rather dramatic failure, dealing a massive blow to the CIA's intelligence network inside Insane as well as greatly reducing the size of Vice's group. It wasn't one of our better moments.

Why is Red talking with Vice, then?

"I told him I'd radio him once I got done." We take a turn, entering a mostly completed building, having to step over thick electric cords as we continue onward.

"So, soon then?" There's something about her voice that really bothers me but I can't pin what it is.

"Why do you care, Claire?" comes an exhausted answer.

"I'm just curious." Her tone says anything but, but Red's sigh tells me he's not all that interested in his sister's musings. "Let me know what he says," she states quickly before turning off and quickly disappearing down another hallway. Yup, there's something definitely wrong with her. Red comes to a stop and so do I, both of us watching her disappear.

Giving off an aggressive sigh, he shoves the gun into the small of my back and we keep walking, finally reaching our destination. It's a basement that's been converted to a prison, strong bars being outfitted into tiny cells that house barely enough room to lie down. Each have a bucket in the back of them, how fancy. He pulls open one of the doors, motioning for me to go inside. Complying, I walk in and let him shut the door behind me. "I'll be back for you later." With that, he disappears back up the stairs, leaving me to my own devices.

Once I hear the heavy cellar door close and I'm left in complete darkness, I mimic, "I'll be back for you later. Blah, blah, blah…" My back finds the wall and slides down it, its cool touch welcomed on my soar and exhausted body. So he's left me with nothing else to do but contemplate the darkness? Great.

Letting out a huge sigh, I lean my head back, closing my eyes. There's one thing I know for sure, I'm absolutely tired of being naked. It's one thing to strip down for him back at the station; it's another to have to continue to walk around in my birthday suit, the whole world ogling me. This psychopath is a real bastard.

Lifting an arm, I tenderly touch my face, wincing immediately and seeing red spray across my vision. I won't be surprised if I've got a fractured skull. If I die because he whapped me one to many times over the head, I'm haunting him for the rest of his life. He'll never be able to sleep again, fearing my ghostly revenge. My hand travels down, touching my tender neck, the memory of forcibly deep throating that son of a bitch rushing back. I have to chock back the desire to vomit as the taste of his cum, the smell of his sweat and the moans that escaped his mouth all assault my brain, forcing me to relive the horrid event. Tears sting my eyes and I let them come freely again. "Fuck," I mutter, voice hoarse. I wrap my arms around my knees, burying my head. I take deliberate breaths, calming my raging mind. There's no way I'll get through this mission if I break down now. I've got to remain calm. I've had worse done to me, forcible oral isn't so bad.

Honestly, I can't say how long I was paralyzed there, shaking violently as I compartmentalized the rape. However long it was, the door to the cellar opened, causing me to jump. Lifting my head, I watched the stairs with careful eyes, seeing Red appear before flipping on a light switch. Blinding whites dazzled my eyes, forcing them shut. Cracking my hazel orbs open, I see he's carrying a plate, some kind of food on it, and a bundle of clothes. Sitting down in front of my cell and pushing the plate through the bars, he speaks up, "Eat. You need your strength." After, he hands the clothes through the bars, dropping them next to the dish.

Looking at it, I can see it's a simple turkey sandwich on white bread. Nothing else adorns the pale crusts. It's been cut diagonally, the way my mother would always cut my school lunches. Giving him a weak glance, I slowly move forward, half expecting him to pull the plate away at the last second. Red doesn't though, instead watching me carefully as I wrap my fingers around the edge of the plastic dish and pull it closer to me. I wasn't aware that I was hungry but holding the sandwich makes my stomach growl loudly. Biting into it, I can't taste the turkey at all, only the salty residue of Red's previous violation of my mouth, so I spit it out.

"What's wrong?"

How do I put it into words? "Nothing…I'm not hungry." I push the plate away, earning a fowl look.

"I said to eat, Cole."

"I'm not hungry."

"Do you remember the conversation we had in the car? Do I need to remind you?" There's anger evident in every part of his features. This fucker really needs to learn how to control his temper. I turn my head away, looking into the other empty cells beside me.

"I'm not hungry."

I flinch when Red's fists hit the bars, the rattle echoing off the cold walls. I don't even look at him, refusing to acknowledge his fury. I can hear him sucking in deep breaths, all while his glare is bearing into my head. "I show you kindness and this is the thanks I get?"

"You really think you're being kind? Giving me a _sandwich_ is being kind?" I glare at him, eyes burning with venom I wasn't aware I contained.

Red doesn't waver as he glares at me, his voice raised but not shouting, "Would you rather starve?"

"I would!"

"Fine then! I'll starve you!" He reaches in, grabbing the plate and pulling it out of my cell, throwing it across the room. It clatters to the ground, the sandwich flopping apart. "I'm trying to be nice here, Cole, and you'd best accept whatever niceness I give you. You won't survive long if you don't." He gets up without another word, turning and leaving, flipping the lights off on the way out. The cellar door slams shut, causing me to grimace.

Mentally, I scold myself because I know I've really fucked up.


	3. Obedience

A/N: It's done! *collapses and dies* I want to apologize for how long this took to update! I'd been steadily working on this chapter for a while-I was having some serious issues getting the flow right for some reason-and then work came and destroyed my progress by taking away all of my time. I finally managed to put aside some time to work on it though and BAM! Here it is.

As always, I want to send out a special thanks to those who reviewed last chapter! You have no idea what it means to me that you take a little time out of your schedule to write me a kind word or two. So thank you so much for doing that!

Enjoy!

* * *

Red showed no mercy, dealing a great deal of damage before finally leaving me alone. We've reached Insane City and I'm inside Red's base, though it doesn't look like I'll be getting around to taking him down anytime soon. I let my emotions get the better of me and now I've been left in his prison to starve out. He's trying to break me, but I won't let him.

* * *

Status Report 3: Obedience

* * *

How long has it been? I wish I knew. My stomach's killing me, rendering me unable to move as I lie here in the fetal position. Everything still hurts, my head hasn't started feeling any better, which isn't a good sign, and my throat is dry, agitating its raw condition. I'm really regretting having gone off on Red, the bastard now leaving me to slowly fade away in the darkness of his prison.

At least I was able to put on the clothes I was brought before becoming immobilized. Though I can't see what they look like, they feel like a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, nothing fancy. I welcome it, even with its lacking pair of underwear, feeling a lot more confident now that my dick isn't flying through the air. They keep me warm enough, too, which is a plus.

Taking a deep breath, my stomach lets out a long growl. Wow, it hasn't done that in a while. I've read it's not a good thing for your stomach to stop growling. Guess I'll find out soon enough. The growl is extremely painful though, causing me to give off a weak whimper. Yeah, I'm _really_ starting to regret going off on Red. Who am I kidding, anyway? I'll blame it on the fractured mental state and my nakedness, but ultimately it's my own damn fault entirely. Rule one of undercover missions, follow orders. Hell, that's rule one of life. And I've managed to screw that up in an epic fashion. Does anyone even say 'epic' anymore?

That's when the cellar door creeks open and I give a meek gaze in its general direction. No light is shining through it, which is contrary to the other times I've seen it open, and the footfall that comes down it doesn't sound as heavy as Red's feet. I'm curious but it's not like I can sit up, so I'm stuck waiting for whoever it is to make an appearance. And after what feels like eons, the person finally does. I can't see them, but I recognize the voice immediately, "Hey, Cole."

It's Claire.

I give off an extremely pathetic noise and I hear her feet approach me. She's feeling up the bars, probably gauging their location, before she shuffles down to her knees and speaks, "Chris-well, Red sent me."

Go figure. I never thought of her as a rule breaker, someone who would go see the prisoner if big brother didn't say too. Though it does get me wondering what Red wants and why he, himself isn't here to see me like this. Claire continues, "He told me to give you this." I hear her reach through the bars, dropping something onto the ground, something flimsy and most likely plastic. Using the little strength I have, I feel for it, grabbing ahold of what feels like a water bottle. Dragging it over to my body, I make sure it's upright before twisting the cap off, which I'm amazed I'm able to do, by the way. Tilting it, and not caring that some of it splashes on me, I wrap my lips around the top and drink greedily.

It feels amazing to have something running down my throat again, the pain in my stomach lessening slightly. I have to force myself to stop drinking, knowing it might be awhile until I get something like this again. Screwing the cap back on with slightly more energy, I set it aside and mutter, "Thanks…"

I can hear her shuffle on her knees, "Yah."

When she starts to get up, I call after her, "Claire?"

I half expect her to keep walking but her feet don't continue. "What?"

"I want to talk to Red." Even just saying those words cause fear to pump through my heart. He's actually the last person I want to see but the mission comes first and I need to get on his good side if I ever hope to kill him. I wait on pins and needles for her response.

"I'll tell him that, but that doesn't mean he'll come." Without another word, she hurries up the stairs and closes the cellar doors, leaving me alone once more. My mind wanders to Red, pondering his actions. I guess he knows I'll die in about three days without water, so he's just preserving me long enough to torture me some more. After all, it takes the human body a long time to finally die of starvation. Of course, if that's the case, why didn't he come down and view his handiwork, see what a couple of days of pure starvation can do to someone. He enjoys seeing me in pain, after all, and so far this is the worst pain I've been in. Maybe that bastard can actually feel sympathy and now he's feeling bad for violating my mouth, bruising my body and throwing me in a cage to rot away? That's the least likely answer.

There's no way I'm going to come to some kind of accurate conclusion so I close my eyes and attempt to fall asleep. I have nothing better to do anyway.

The next time I awaken, it's to a blindingly bright light. I wince, pain like daggers stabbing into my eyes. Giving off a moan, I drag my hands over my sensitive eyes, the sheer agony only dampened slightly by the shade. I hear footsteps coming to a halt in front of me and I feel eyes drilling holes into my head as well. It takes every ounce of strength to look up into the white light, catching a glimpse of the outline of an incredibly muscular figure. It's Red, definitely.

"Claire said you wanted to see me." His voice is deadpanned, though his anger is leaking through. I bite back any and all snarky responses that come to mind since I've already got one foot in the grave with the other dangling over a meat grinder. My words need to be well thought out, not off the cuff and rude as they've been.

"Red," I manage; my eyes are finally starting to get use to the light. Sitting up, I can feel myself nearly stumbling over as I work my way to my knees. Damn, starvation has had a number on me, that's for sure. Keeping my back straight but averting my gaze-these powerful types always like to feel superior in every way possible-I speak, "I wanted to apologize for what I did…" Which was not eating your bland sandwich because it tasted just like your nasty, disgusting dick. "You were trying to be kind to me and I threw that back in your face." God, I should really get some kind of trophy for how well I can lie. I still can't believe arrogance of this magnitude exists. I've always thought we as humans have evolved passed this kind of attitude, but Red still has it. I guess not everyone is 'top of the food chain' material.

"You did."

"And I'm sorry. There's no excusing my behavior…" Well, actually, the whole 'my mouth tastes like your fucking cum' kind of works as an excuse, but, whatever.

He leans against the bars, the metal creaking some, "So you've learned your lesson?"

"Yes."

A sigh, "Let me tell you something, Cole." I hear him shuffling through his pockets, pulling out some things. The distinct zip of a lighter plays over my ears right as the smell of cigarette smoke tickles my nose. God, I hate this smell… "I didn't get where I am today by letting people walk all over me and, when it's most convenient for them, forgiving them for their misdeeds." Letting out a puff of smoke, he slides down the bars, back still towards me as he holds the cancer stick loosely between two fingers. I raise an eyebrow at him, head still low. Maybe he's smarter than I give him credit for.

He continues, "I'll admit, I enjoyed watching you squirm and fight back in the Jeep, but that attitude of yours is wearing rather thin against my nerves. If it keeps up, I might do something _you'll_ regret. Am I making myself clear?"

Giving a small nod, I say, "Yes, sir." I remember him telling me to say that to him. He's probably thinking he's trained himself quiet the bitch. Boy, is he in for a surprise when I knife him.

Red scoffs, a sadistic smile no doubt playing across his lips, "And people say they don't like suck ups…" Standing, he turns and regards me, my eyes lifting to meet his. I hold back the urge to tell him off again, remembering where it got me the last time. Rule two of infiltration missions, don't make the same mistake twice. If I'm going to kill him, I've got to play his fucked up game. His smile widens as he looks down at me, a hand reaching to gently touch the side of my face. I wince, biting back a yelp. "Damn it, that's hot." His hand lingers down to my chin and back up the other side of my face, each finger brushing lightly against the battered skin. His hand comes to rest at the dried blood that's stuck to my face, where my skin broke open after his volley of pistol whips. "You wear blood well."

Backing away, he unlocks the cell, pulling it open. "Now let's get moving," he says, "I've got something you need to do for me."

My stomach sinks and I'm sure I visibly paled. Was he going to assault me again? Would it be more than oral sex this time? On shaky legs, I stand-partially weak because of malnutrition and partially weak from fear-and I walk out of the cage. "What do you want me to do?"

He throws a dark smirk in my direction, "Initiation, of course."

I swallow hard. Haven't I gone through enough initiation? Without a word, though, I follow Red up the stairs, blinking back tears as my eyes are assaulted with the extremely bright lights from the work space above. He's walking fast and I tumble after him, struggling to keep up. We round a corner and another, finally reaching a closed off room. The cement clad walls loom ominously as Red pushes through the door and we enter a chamber filled with several people. They're standing around a makeshift table, the long beams unfinished and prickly with splinters. Candles melt slowly into the middle of the table, their flames a welcomed darkness from the lights outside. At the very back of the room is a large throne-esque chair and it takes every bit of me to resist rolling my eyes. This prick really thinks of himself as some kind of king or god, doesn't he?

Red takes a seat in the throne, motioning for me to stand beside it. Doing so, I feel utterly ridicules, especially as I get a better look at the crowd of people. They appear to be some of Red's top leutienatns, though why they're all gathered here is beyond me. Perhaps something is about to go down? There's another man on the other side of the throne, a blonde man. He throws me a smile and I return it with a tiny one of my own. What the hell is with this guy? Oddly enough, he looks familiar, though in my current mental state, it's nearly impossible to figure out from where.

The men before me look uneasy-save the strange blonde guy-their attention focused on Red. The criminal gives a strong smirk in their direction, waiting through long bouts of uncomfortable silence before finally speaking. "Thank you for gathering, gentlemen." Another pause. He's making them extremely uncomfortable. Something's not right here. "Someone ask the question."

A shorter man speaks up, buzzed hair and a round face, "W-Why are we here, sir?"

"Thank you, Jason. That's a fantastic question. Why are you here? There's one person in this room that knows the answer to that…" He sits forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, "and I know this person knows because I stumbled upon their dirty little secret a short bit ago." My stomach turns to lead and I hope he isn't talking about me. He couldn't have figured out I work for the CIA this quickly. There's just no way. Cole Jaden's story checks out to a T and all traces of Piers Nivans have been wiped from every database in the world. I don't exist, only Cole does. It just isn't possible, is it? "I want that person to step forward." As I panic quietly, the shadowed people in the room grow fidgety under Red's hard gaze. The swelling silence does little to quell the uncomfortable feelings in the air. For long, painful minutes, we stand in an awkward hush, Red not even so much as twitching. The tension in the air is so thick, I can touch it. Everyone's at the edge now, the fragile silence far to heavy yet no one willing to shatter it. It's becoming unbearable.

I dare a glance over to Red, his eyes trained in front of him. The candle light has softened his harsh features, though his glare is no less intimidating. But he looks younger, less beaten by the war he's been waging for nearly a decade. He _almost _looks human sitting there. If it wasn't for the fact he's trying to use silence to crack his men's morale, I'd think he was simply deep in thought as he sits in the soft orange glow.

Suddenly, a voice in the crowd bursts out, "I'm the spy!" As if the man were diseased, the others step away from him, large gates distancing them from him in the matter of a second. There isn't so much as a murmur as the spy looks around frantically, his eyes wide from fear of what's to come. "I swear the CIA doesn't know anything!" He tries to run but the men standing in a circle around him grab him, forcing him to the ground.

Red stands, nodding to the strange blonde on the other side of the throne, "Well Vice, is this your guy?"

So that blonde is Vice? I knew he looked familiar. So Red and Vice are on more than speaking terms now, they trust each other enough to come over and play dictator? Since when? What else doesn't the CIA know about?

Vice walks over, through the crowd, and stops in front of the spy. The man-even in the limited light-visibly pales as Vice glares down at him. "Honestly," the blonde states, voice deadpan, "I couldn't tell you. I've never bothered to learn the names and faces of those below me." He throws a sarcastic smirk towards Red, "I figured I'd leave the hard work to you, friend. After all, you're so much better at making them crack."

A scoff comes from beside me, "You've always been a snake, Vice."

"I'm flattered," the blonde smiles and turns, walking back to his previous position beside the dictator, "It's not like I wasn't doing you a favor by leaking this little bit of Intel to you. I mean, after all, he's both of our problems considering he's been working under both of us for a while now. At least for me he was some numbered minion, for you he's one of your top lieutenants. You've always had a sucky choice in character, though."

"That explains why I'm talking to you."

The blonde doesn't even flinch at the careless comment, something that would have normally-should Vice have been in power in this situation-gone rather badly for the smartass who said it. But their bickering is the least of my concerns right now. Just who is this spy? He brought up the CIA, but I was told that there was no one inside Insane City, not after the failed overthrow of Red during Operation: Cohort-where Vice's troops were used to try and eliminate Red. The CIA rated the risk level too high, and it wasn't until I was released for this mission that they felt it was calm enough to try and go from the inside again. So is this guy bluffing or what?

My name brings me out of my musing, my eyes landing on Red. He's giving me a stone cold glare, "You're going to prove your loyalty to me, right here, right now." His hand reaches to the holster strapped around his leg, pulling a gun free. It's black, sleek frame glows ominously against the darkened background as he hands it to me, handle first. Looking at him and then the gun, I take it. It feels heavy and, despite my weakened condition, my heart rate increases tenfold. Even though I've killed dozens of people, I still feel a rush of terror whenever I'm about to go through with it. It's not normal, still being afraid to kill. I should be hardened but I'm not and, at times like this, it terrifies me that I haven't. Sucking in a deep breath, I look at Red before turning to examine the spy. His entire body is rigid, fear oozing off of him in waves. There's something about this spy that tells me his story is a tragic one, one that's going to go unheard and unknown for the rest of eternity. His family will never know what happened to him and his friends will always wonder where he went. This man's life and death will always be surrounded in mystery, a dusty case in the back of a police department's records room. I've seen too many of those cases, known too many people who've up and disappeared. Can I really allow this to happen to someone else?

Stepping towards the spy, I watch as he shrinks down, his body almost becoming one with the cement below my feet. "P-Please…I'm sorry…I promise they don't know anything. They don't even know I'm here, not anymore!" Standing right in front of him, I hold the gun loosely at my side.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Red's voice is dangerous, "Cole."

The spy speaks freely, "The CIA sent me in years ago, to send intelligence on Red back! They left me after the front fell through and I've been here ever since! I swear, I'm working for you Red!" He looks past me, looking at the criminal behind me. "I gave up on the CIA! They left me! But you-you didn't leave me! You never betrayed me! Why else would I work so hard to help you accomplish your goals?"

"You're working for Vice," Red's voice is almost painfully emotionless.

"That's only because I can't leave his order or I'll be killed! But I swear, my loyalty is to you!"

Red's voice is stern as he speaks, cool and stoic, "Once a traitor, always a traitor, Patrick."

"No! That's not true! I'd do anything for you!"

"Then die," Red states. The way he says it, so simply and without hesitation, so heartlessly…It sends a shiver through my spine.

"What…?" Patrick-as Red calls him-sounds completely devastated by the news-like he didn't see it coming for miles. What did he expect, getting tangled with a crazy bastard like Red? The only person this prick is looking out for is number one, everyone else can take a bullet between the teeth.

"You heard me, Patrick." He steps away from his throne. Vice follows after as Red leaves the room, the man waving nonchalantly towards us, "Bring me his head when you're done, Cole. I'll be in my office." He disappears from the room, the other men standing awkwardly before shuffling after, none really desiring to watch their friend die a gruesome death. All the while, Patrick is mumbling to himself, tears streaming down his face as he watches the men he's fought beside abandon him. As the last set of military grade boots leaves the room, I turn my gaze on him.

"Patrick…"

"I can't believe it," He states.

"Patrick, I need you to listen to me." Kneeling down, I look him square in the eye, defeat present there. "You need to tell me what you know about Red, about his operation." I have no idea if this place is wired or not so I've got to be careful. Saying something stupid could hand me a similar fate to this poor bastard. "Patrick."

He's dazed and, as he looks at me, I can see he's lost all hope now. He really did believe these people were his friends. He really thought that Red was his savior. He really thought that, after switching sides, Red would forgive him for his associations. What a dumb son of a bitch. His lips twitch into a smile, "You know, it's kind of funny really. I got sent here almost five years ago for some blasted operation. When it failed, I was left behind. The boss of the CIA called me and told me that I wasn't _worth_ extracting. Yah, he _told_ me that. Over the _phone_. It wasn't that it'd be too difficult, it was because I wasn't _worth_ it."

My heart nearly stops beating. What? Is that his crazy talking or is he serious? I've heard of leaving a man behind, it happens. I've witnessed it. But too leave him behind because the director doesn't like him? My thoughts fly to the director, thinking about the man and his looming presence. He's always been a bit cold but I'd never pegged him for some kind of heartless beast. This can't be right.

"That's when I dedicated myself to Red, to helping him claim this god forsaken city-it's already doomed anyway!" Patrick is crazed now, looking at me wildly, "You've got to believe me! I've been nothing but loyal to Red since the CIA left me behind! My ties with Vice are nothing but superficial! I haven't run a mission for him since the CIA dropped me!"

"If that's the case," I state, keeping my voice cool and low, "You should tell me what it is you know. If you tell me that, Red will let you walk."

"Really? But he said-"

I shake my head, every ounce of my being stinging, "That's only if you don't talk."

There's something about the look on his face that disturbs me, like he's really that far gone in his sanity. Giving a shaky nod, he speaks, "I'll tell you everything." And he begins to speak.

It's a short conversation, one that doesn't yield more than I already knew, save the last bit he includes on the end. Recently, he discovered a conspiracy growing within Red's ranks. Apparently, a couple of his lieutenants are planning to overthrow him. But, Patrick thinks this mentality is far reaching, and could be affecting several of the other gangs in Insane City. It doesn't surprise me, considering people don't like being under the heel of a dictator for long. No doubt Red's always sleeping with one eye open, he knows his power is sought after. That's not the part that bothers me. It's that it could possibly be wide spread. A collective overthrow attempt will spell disaster for the surrounding cities, as well as for me. Not only that, but a movement of that size would have to have an organizer, some kind of leader who'd take over once things were said and done.

It means Red isn't the only person I need to watch out for.

Mentally, I heave a sigh and I look at the hopeful in front of me. "What's your real name?" He twitches with surprise, and an unsettling calm comes over him. It's like he's come to terms with things or something.

"You mean the name I used before." His words are empty, that hope I'd seen before is gone. He knows he's going to die.

"Yes."

"The last time I was called by that name was when I was leaving for that mission. My wife came up to me and hugged me, told me she loved me and to be safe. My two daughters, they did the same thing. I remember my little Mya, she told me, 'daddy, come home safe or I won't let you hug me ever again'." A lump forms in my throat but I swallow past it. "It's ironic, really. I could have returned home safely had the CIA extracted me. But, because I was already so deeply involved, I couldn't just walk away without getting a bullet shoved into my brain." He gives off a small, heartless laugh, "It's almost funny. The CIA is the reason I never got to see them again…They're the reason my wife and kids are still praying for my safe return and hoping against all hope that I'll return to them someday. And yet the CIA considers themselves to be heroes of the American people, like they're some kind of race of god or something. It's truly ironic."

"I'm sorry." Is all I can muster.

"You'd better watch yourself, or you'll be left behind, too." My blood turns to ice as I look at him, his eyes locked with mine. How does he…? "As for my name, it's Henry Pretz."

Pretz, huh? "Thank you, Henry." I keep myself calm, not wanting to acknowledge that he's said something that's gotten me startled. Lifting the gun quickly, I pull the trigger, the bullet flying through the front of his head. Bits of blood and brain matter splatter onto me as his limp body collapses to the ground, a crimson halo forming around what's left of his head.

He knew, somehow he figured out I'm undercover too. Was it something I said? Or is it really that obvious? Shaking my head, I dismiss the thought. If I go around doubting myself, I'll be leaving myself open to discovery.

Standing and grabbing a bit of broken skull, I step out of the room and make my way through the cords and half built walls. I have to stop and ask a couple of people to point me in the direction of Red's office, not my proudest moment. But when I finally get there, I don't even have to knock before he calls me in. I step inside, throwing the disgusting mass onto his desk, bits of leaking brains and splatters of blood forming upon the metal finish. He gives it a disinterested stare before looking up at me, "I didn't think you'd be able to pull it off, Cole."

"I told you I learned my lesson, didn't I?"

His smile says everything. He's pleased and he fucking believes I'm his little bitch now. Good. "Well then, Cole, it looks like I'm down a lieutenant, care to fill in?" He stands, his strong body dimly lit by the empty window frames, "Being a member of my lieutenants means you'll have to follow my orders to the letter and, of course, you'll have to swear your allegiance to me. You hold no person or god before me, I am your savoir now." God, that's fucking cocky. "Also, Cole, whatever I ask for, you give in full and that includes that mouth of yours." A chill runs up my spine but I bite back any noise that dares to try and escape my lips. "Do you understand? From today on, you're my solider, my follower and my fuck toy."

It takes every last bit of my strength to speak and not sound sarcastic or condescending, "I understand, sir. I'm yours."

Red grins, "Good." He steps around his desk, walking up to me and placing a hand on my shoulder, "Then welcome to the family, Cole."


	4. The Mission

A/N: OH MY GOD IT'S BEEN FOREVER! I'm so sorry for the long wait! I've been so freaking busy with school and work that I've scarcely had time to even _think_ about this fanficiton. There is some good news, though. I've found a time in my schedule I can actually just sit down and work on this fanfiction, so that means you should be seeing updates more frequently. I won't commit myself to a time table, so just make sure you've got this story followed (most of you do, I'd imagine).

Thank you so much for the reviews! Like I said, I've been so busy I haven't even been able to respond to them. I'll make sure to reply back to those of you who took the time to leave a good word or two this go around. It really means a lot to me when you take the time to write a review, no matter how short, so I do want to show you all my gratitude. Also thanks to those who followed and favorited! It's a joy to see those in my inbox as well!

Well, I'm sure you're all done listening to me. On with the story!

* * *

I've been freed from my imprisonment and elected into Red's army as a lieutenant, but at a cost: Henry Pretz. A CIA agent left behind after the failure that was Operation: Cohort; he was uncovered and sentenced to die by my hand. Before I killed him, he told me of a conspiracy that's been unfolding within the criminal factions of Insane City. Someone big is plotting the overthrow of the crime lords here, which means I've got to find them and stop them before they bring the entire region into chaos.

* * *

Status Report 4: Mission

* * *

My sleep's not any better than the night before, save this time I'm on a paper-thin mattress in the barracks of Red's base sleeping head to toe with several of Red's underlings. I guess a luxurious sleeping quarter is too much to ask for, even as a lieutenant. Though, I can't really complain. This mission's turned itself around nicely, what with how it started off in the Jeep. I thought for sure I'd finally taken one too many risks and was going to wind up dead in a ditch off the highway somewhere. But, as it turns out, that sadistic prick likes watching me squirm, which is to my advantage. So yah, really I've got nothing to complain about-even my stiff neck from the none-to-restful sleep.

Sitting up, my mind wanders to Henry. I have to push back the flood of guilt that's washing over me-I've also got to keep the contents of last night's dinner down too. Somehow, Red figured out about Pretz' involvement with the CIA. It disturbs me since all records of our previous lives are erased once we go undercover. It _supposed_ keeps things from getting uncovered and into hands that really don't need it. Yet somehow Pretz' information was found, spelling the end for him. But that's not all that's suspicious about this entire event. Henry's discovery-about the overthrow-how is that going to figure into this battle? Whoever's pulling the strings, whoever wants to take Red and the rest of the scum down, must have less than good intentions about the future of Insane City. Too get to one crazy, it looks like I'll have to take another down first.

Glancing around, I can see the stacked beds and their housed sleepers. The slumbering faces of high school drop outs and deadbeats is a less than angelic vision, reminding me that not everyone who sleeps has the face of an angel. Dropping my legs over the side, I stand and stretch, every muscle in my body still screaming at me. How much longer until I start feeling better? Until I'm no longer suffering from the battery I received back in the car? Heaving a silent sigh, I trek through the tangle of limp sheets and discarded-and stained- boxer shorts, stepping into the hall of concrete. It's dark and cool, despite the desert that surrounds us. As I walk, my bare feet slapping against the hard ground, I turn a corner and another before finally getting free of the barracks area. I stop short of another step though, when the blonde man from earlier comes into view. Vice, wasn't it? He's standing nonchalantly, doesn't even notice me, as he talks to someone. It's a quiet conversation, held behind the turn of a corner, making the other person impossible to see.

He's got this strange look, one I've seen plastered on the faces of so many men in those cheesy romance movies. Vice gives off a laugh, a female one accompanying it, before motioning a goodbye and turning in my direction. Before I can even think of ducking back, he's seen me and freezes like a child who's been caught doing something they know they shouldn't be doing.

"You," he breathes, "the kid from yesterday."

Kid? Seriously, do I look young enough to be called 'kid'? "Vice, right?" I state coolly. He waits another second, still staring obnoxiously, before answering. It's like a refined sense comes over him as he regains his collective masks, the deer-in-the-headlights look disappearing under the shadows of his cover. Whatever I walked in on, he's discarded it and taken control of himself and the air again. I can feel it.

"I'm surprised you remember my name, considering you looked absolutely terrified standing there yesterday."

"They say you're memory tends to be better when your under duress. It's a survival mechanism."

"Is that so?" This slick smile plays across his lips as he steps forward, closing the distance uncomfortably so. "Well, I didn't catch your name. What was it again?"

Since he's in leagues with Red-might have even offered some input into the trial I did the other day- I assume he already knows me quite well. But I'll humor him. "Cole."

It comes out effortlessly, as a name should.

"Cole, huh? Come to think of it, Red might have mentioned you." No duh, blondie. I'm sure he's had a lot to say about me, considering the torment I've endured because of him. I'd actually be a little insulted if he _hadn't_ mentioned me to someone else, considering I worked his dick pretty damn well-according to him, at least. "He said you were ballsy. Said he likes it, too." It's a knowing smirk that comes across his face. Yah, Red's _definitely_ mentioned me.

His words don't faze me though, "So, are you two friends?"

The blonde shrugs to that, "I wouldn't use the word 'friends', but we're definitely business partners. Sometimes you've got to play by your investor's game to get anything done." There's that smile again. "I guess you could say I've got a stake in being Red's 'friend', though that makes me curious." He brings a hand to his chin, eyes drilling into mine. "What was your reason for taking that woman's place?"

Is he talking about the situation at the bus stop? I give the simple version of the truth, "It was to protect her."

"Wow," Vice states, sounding none-too-amazed, "that's pretty chivalrous. Don't see that kind of mentality anymore. It's always about protecting our own ass anymore."

I frown a little, "I don't prescribe to that kind of thinking. When someone's in trouble, you should help them. No matter the cost."

Those words made an impression, it's written all over his features. Maybe it's the fact that I'm sincere in what I say that's got him so struck. It's the truth though, it was how I was raised. You don't leave people out to dry, especially when they're completely helpless. She couldn't do anything to stop what was about to happen, she didn't have a fighting chance. I guess these criminal types don't feel the same way, though. It's weakness to them-showing that kind of care for another living being.

"I've got to say, Cole," Vice states as he steps past me, placing a hand delicately on my shoulder, "You're a different kind of person. A little too 'cop' for my tastes, though."

How badly I want to roll my eyes. "I guess you can say that. I always did play the good guy when I was a kid." And now, even.

This earns a chuckle and a pat on the shoulder. "You're an interesting person. It'll be fun to see how Red takes to you." Vice removes his hand, gate long in passing me, "Anyway, I've got somewhere to be. I'll see you later, Cole."

I don't bother watching him leave but I don't move until his footsteps have finished their last echo down the hall. Letting out a breath I hadn't been aware I was holding, I continue walking, a small tremble running down my spine. Vice is definitely an odd one. From how his files describe him, he's a pretty sadistic person-a calm and collected one, though. I can believe it, the way he regained himself after I'd caught him in some kind of damning act. And, based on how he spoke to me today, I'd say he's suspicious of me. That doesn't matter too much, though, so long as that suspicion remains suspicion. It might mean I'm under the scope a little more than I'd like to be, but I can handle it. I've done it before.

Whoever this Vice guy really is, he's dangerous. I just get that sense from him. He's hiding a lot of potential, waiting to take center stage.

My stomach growls, reminding me of my objective-well, besides sneaking around to gather more information. I should get to the dining hall before Red's goons wake from their less-than-precious sleep and stumble over to grab some grub. They're the last kind of company I want to dine with.

Despite the maze of corridors and open spaces, I find myself in the dining hall. I honestly wouldn't call it a 'hall'-at least not in the strictest sense. Its open rafters and pale walls oppress the air, sucking the energy out of the room. I waste no time pondering how to fix the atmosphere, though, and head straight for the food. At one time or another, this was supposed to be a buffet of sorts, the metal serving counters in place-some lined with partly-edible substances. There's someone in the back-maybe Claire-who's dishing out entrees and putting them out here for everyone to eat.

The smell of half burnt eggs and charcoal toast comes to my nose and, despite the less-than-appetizing scent, I start to salivate. I've found that chocking down food is a lot easier now that the taste of Red's salty cum is no longer inside my mouth, even though my throat is still rather soar. Grabbing a plastic plate, I begin to dish out the gross glop in front of me, getting just enough to satisfy my hunger. Sitting down and digging in without so much as a thank you to the person in back, I swallow quickly to avoid tasting the goopy bits of what should be eggs. It's revolting at its best, but at least it gives me something to run on. Another big rule of undercover work, eat when you get the chance. The tables could turn at any given moment and running on E can get you killed.

As I work down my last stripe of what I assume is bacon, I hear footsteps beside me. Turning my head, Red's there, smiling down at me. He's got a plate of food, heaping mounds nearly toppling over the edges of the white circle. "Mind if I sit next to you?"

I didn't expect to see him here. Doesn't he have some lush and lavish dining room, equipped with a red carpet and a fireplace mantel lined with the skulls of his enemies? But whatever. I nod and he sits, the pile of food on his plate a lot taller now that I can get a better look. He sees me eyeing his food, "You want some?"

Shaking my head, I say, "I already ate, actually. I'm just surprised by how much you're eating." Hopefully he doesn't take it the wrong way and order me to the dungeon. I haven't quite figured this guy out yet-what sets him off is a mystery.

Thankfully, he just laughs, "What can I say? I like to eat-like to cook, too. How'd you like breakfast?"

It was disgusting and I'm pretty sure an ape could have made better. "It was good."

"Well thanks; I'm glad you liked it."

Wait, Red made this crap? I stare down at to my empty plate, crumbs sprinkled along its pale surface, before looking back at him. He doesn't seem to have noticed my surprised face, his mouth occupied with the undercooked eggs I'd forced down previously. I really can't believe he made this stuff. He's got to be pulling my leg. As he takes another spoonful of eggs into his mouth, he glances over at me, eyes curious at my expression. "What?" He speaks, bits of yellow tumbling from his overly stuffed mouth.

"Nothing, sir."

He must be satisfied with the answer, because he goes back to doing what he was doing before, stuffing his face full of less than stellar cuisine. He completes his meal in silence, both of us not bothering with a conversation. Maybe it's because he knows I've got nothing to say to him. I don't owe him a 'thank you' and I certainly don't owe him another fuck. Or maybe he's content with the quiet as well. Maybe he's surrounded by so much noise that a little bit of silence is more calming than unnerving.

It's odd, actually. He appears human to me. He's done this before, though, where the light made him look less like a monster and more like a man-sort of the opposite of beauty and the beast. Red-or Chris-just seems like a regular person, enjoying a crummy breakfast before heading off to work. If I let everything around me slip away, it's just like we're two friends sitting down to a meal together. Neither feeling like saying much of anything and the other being okay with that.

Or maybe I'm overthinking it and he's too busy eating to care if I'm speaking to him or not.

Whatever it is, the fragile silence between us is shattered when footsteps come from behind once again. We both turn, Vice there with a smile on his face. Leave it to that prick to ruin the atmosphere with his pompous smirk. "Well, I never thought Red would sit down with one of his pawns." His eyes travel to the half empty plate before the crime lord, "Did you make breakfast again?"

"Yeah," Red says nonchalantly, "What can I say? I enjoy cooking."

"Relieves the stress, huh?" Vice doesn't bother asking before sitting himself down next to Red, the table suddenly very crowded. "I've always found fucking some bitch senseless is a good way to relieve the stress that comes along with this job. Of course, I guess you do that too, huh?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes heavenward. Is this guy _trying_ to get under my skin? Because he sure acts like a douchebag when he's around me. Or, maybe that's how he always is. I'd believe it.

Red's voice is pleasant as he speaks, "By 'some bitch' you mean my sister?"

Vice winces visibly at that, though Red's tone was nothing but polite. "You know I haven't slept with her since your little 'warning'. I may be a player, but I'm not going to sleep with death. Besides," he leans into the table, eyes shifting towards me, "I think I've found someone else to play with."

Every last bit of me shivers and I'm pretty sure he saw it. A cold sweat threatens to break across my skin but I grab ahold of my calm before I can show any more weakness. He's still looking at me, cold eyes drilling through my tender flesh and into my very soul. He's definitely suspicious of me; he's made that incredibly clear now. But it's more than that, he's gotten a taste of seeing me squirm and like Red, he's addicted. He's one of _those_ guys, the one that watches his prey suffer before finally putting them to a cold end. But, those are the kinds of bastards I like to put down.

Red's voice interrupts my thoughts, "It better not be Viper. You're little 'affairs' with her have never ended in your favor."

Ah yes, Viper. She's a cold hearted crime lord who's recently made her way onto the CIA's target list. It's believed she's been active in Insane City for some time, though she's been operating under the surface until recently. Her motives are largely unknown and, more than that, her alliances are a mystery as well. We don't know who she's working with or who she's working for and, worse yet, it's nearly impossible to figure out. Unlike Red, whose ranks were easy to penetrate, hers are damn near impossible. She's _very_ picky about whom she lets in and those who we've sent to try and do so have never reported back.

Vice is quick to defend himself, "I've learned my lesson with her. She's a definite 'no go' zone."

"Like my sister."

"Like your sister."

Scooping what remains of his eggs onto a burnt piece of toast, Red shoves it into his mouth and chews slowly, the gears in his head visibly working over what he wants to say. I can see what Vice meant by them not being friends. There's nothing _friendly_ in this conversation, despite the calm and polite tones. I guess they're both really out for themselves, alliances be damned. They're temporary at best and when it's convenient to discard the other, they'll be thrown aside with no more dignity than trash to the side of the road. Deciding to interject my own thoughts-even if I really don't have the right to do so- I say, "So Vice and Claire hit it off then?"

Red swallows, "Let's just say Claire likes the 'bad boys' and Vice here is as faux 'bad boy' as they come."

"Faux?" Comes the blonde's voice.

He's ignored as Red continues, "Claire deserves someone better than him, honestly, which is why I intervened. Actually, she's probably still mad at me for that. But Claire's always mad at me for one thing or another."

He just sounds so sincere when it comes to his sister. I'm actually impressed by that.

There's a chuckle from Vice, "Well, she probably is. I mean, she could have become Mrs. Kennedy"

Red raises an eyebrow, "Mr. Leon and Claire Kennedy, huh?"

"We could have been brothers-in-law."

"I think I'd rather die."

Vice gives a dangerous smirk, "That can be arranged." There's a glare that forms on Red's face, one that I've seen before, back when he was sentencing Henry to die. It's a venomous glare, one that holds all the intent and the means to accomplish said intent. Vice-or I guess Leon Kennedy, that's _such_ a stupid name-throws his hands up in mock surrender, "Kidding, kidding."

"In any case," Red states, his features returning to normal and the subsequent tension diminishing, "I'd never let her end up with a blue eyed, smooth talking snake."

"Ouch, Chris, your words are so hurtful." Vice's playful tone have no effect on Red, who finishes up the last bit of his food and stands, pushing the chair away.

"Why are you even over here, Vice? Don't you have your own faction to run?"

"I do," He states, "but I was actually hoping you'd help me again."

Red frowns, "I think I've fulfilled my favors for you."

"Honestly, Patrick affected us both, so I'd call that a win-win." Vice states simply, his full attention on Red. "This will be more for my benefit than yours."

I glance at Red, curious to see his response. I never thought the head crime lord of Insane City could be so easily bullied around. Favors can get a man anywhere, it seems. "Let's talk in my office." He steps away from the table, moving towards the trashcans to throw away his plate. "Cole, you come too."

Me? "Yes, sir." Why the hell does he want me to get involved in his dirty little affairs? Standing, I follow Red, Leon close behind, as we make our way through the turning hallways towards Red's office. I recognize the pathway, having walked it yesterday with the bloodied skull of Henry Pretz between my fingers. Upon entering, it looks a lot different than yesterday. The sunlight sprinkles through the glassless windows, illuminating what was darkness last night. The room is simple, save the busy desk in the middle of the room. Skulls and bones are nowhere to be found, much to my imaginations disappointment.

Red takes his seat, Kennedy coming to stand in front of him. I keep my distance, hoping to disappear into the background to gather a little more dirt on the two of them-especially Red.

"Speak," is all Red says, Vice doing exactly that.

"Remember how I told you that killing Patrick would solve this little problem?" There's a nod, recollection from a previous conversation, "Well, I'm thinking I was wrong."

This doesn't even peak Red's interest, a passive expression playing across his face. "So?"

"Patrick's room was searched and besides the documents we received from 3, he had nothing linking him to the CIA." I'm confused. What's 3? Whoever or whatever this 3 is, it's what ratted out Patrick, that much is obvious. But I've never heard of it before. Is it an organization or a person? Do they function inside Insane City without the CIA's knowledge?

"It's not my fault you got bad Intel."

"It's 3, Chris. They don't give bad Intel."

He gets this look, a pained look and then gives a sigh, one that says Leon's right. "So what? You think he hid it away or something?"

"Or," the blonde states, leaning against the desk for emphasis, "he _gave_ it to someone."

There's silence between them, both considering the likelihood of the statement. Honestly, to me, it doesn't seem likely given what I saw from him. Henry was left alone after the failure of Operation: Cohort. He wouldn't have revealed himself to anyone. The only reason he spoke anything to me was because he was desperate to save himself at the end. But, I suppose anything's possible. If someone befriended him and gained his utmost trust, he might have slipped the information to them for safe keeping. Any files, any documents, any data collected on his targets-it could all be in the hands of someone else right now, someone who's none too likely to reveal what they know given what happened to Henry.

What's even more likely, is someone with less than pure intentions has gotten their hands on that Intel, and possibly served in ratting Patrick out to keep that info to themselves.

I glance at Red when he shifts, "So," he says, "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Find the person he gave it to or find where he's hiding it. I'd do it myself but if I make it known I'm searching my base looking for this shit, whoever's got it is going to burn it up as fast as they possibly can. If it's just hidden away, people will start searching for it because they'll think they're ballsy enough to take me on if they've got it. You see my problem?"

There's another nod from Red, "So you want to operate your base per usual while I have my men look around for clues."

Vice grins, "Bingo. And when you find the information, you give it over to me."

"I'm guessing you don't want me to look at it."

"Right again." I'm one hundred percent convinced this Leon guy is an asshole. "So?"

Standing, Red steps over to his windows, looking out and upon the stone prison he's locked himself in. "It's a deal."

I can see Vice's entire body change, his stance straighter and more powerful. He's got what he wants, for better or worse. "Good. I'll leave you to your plans then." With that, he turns and leaves us, closing the door silently behind himself. There's a long pause after he leaves, where the tension is so thick it's chocking me. Red is ridged, like he knows he's just walked himself into something dangerous, a room full of cobras. I want to say something but I can't think of anything. Why do I even care to comfort him anyway? Why would I want to offer him some kind of guidance or console?

Sucking in a deep breath, I step forward, "What are you thinking, sir?"

He doesn't even look at me, his brown eyes fixed out the empty window. Ok, maybe he doesn't want to talk. I'm down with that. I make to leave but his voice, soft and stern, keeps me in place. "Cole, I need you to do something for me."

"Sir?" Taking a step closer, I lean in some, wondering if I've heard him right. Surely he's not planning on sending me after this information. He doesn't want to send me over all of his other far-more-trustworthy lieutenants. Unless he wants to screw with me-which is _very_ possible.

"Vice's men know my men too well. You're the only new face around here." He turns towards me then, just as my stomach starts to sink. "I need you to find out if any information has been either hidden or passed through someone's hands. Then you need to retrieve it."

My voice is harsher than I mean it to be, "How do you expect me to do that?"

He doesn't flinch though, which I'm thankful for. "Gain that Intel by whatever means. Rather it's stealing or torture." Red takes a step towards me and leans down on the table, putting his full weight on his knuckles. "You get that information and you tell me what it says before passing it on to Vice. He thinks he's getting this dirt all to himself but I don't plan on playing this pretty."

Surprise, surprise. Not that I was going to keep myself in the dark either. It's a win-win-win, at least, that's if I don't get caught or killed first. Fun. "So, how do you want me to do this?"

"You go in and start snooping about. I'll give you the creds required for being a part of Vice's gang. Find it, report to me and then report to Vice." Him and then Vice? God, he's such a prick, having to know about it first.

"You want me to tell him everything I learn?"

There's a pause-I asked a good question. "Yes. If too much is censored, he'll know I got ahold of it first." Isn't he going to assume that anyway? Whatever. It's not my place to state the obvious. Giving a nod to him, I see him give me a smile for the first time. It's not one of those 'I'm going to have so much fun making you suffer' smiles. It's a legitimate 'go team' smile. I smile back, though I try to keep the happiness in it to a minimum. I don't want to look like an idiot. "I'll get everything arranged for you. Don't wander too far until then." With that, he's off and out of the room.

The coldness of the room-which wasn't present until now-seeps into my bones and I shudder. Wrapping my arms around myself, I glance towards the doorway. Something tells me this isn't going to be an easy mission.


End file.
